


Solastalgia

by verona_rupes



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse Prevented, Extinction Avatar Martin Blackwood, Leitner Books (The Magnus Archives), M/M, Nonbinary Martin Blackwood, The Extinction Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives), The Lonely Fear Entity (The Magnus Archives), The Magnus Archives Season 4, additional content warnings at the start of each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-26 18:13:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30109992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verona_rupes/pseuds/verona_rupes
Summary: What if Peter and Jonah's wager was different, Martin fell to the Extinction rather than the Lonely, and Peter won the bargain?
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 9
Kudos: 12





	1. The Breakwater

**Author's Note:**

> This is a canon-divergent, self-indulgent, late Season 4 AU with a homebrew Leitner encounter! It will be ~10k words over four chapters. 
> 
> Martin uses they/them pronouns, and I shorten Jonathan to "John" rather than "Jon" (sorry)
> 
> This takes place in July 2018 (after the trip to Ny-Ålesund and Hill Top Road), and each chapter title will be named after a chapter from the book We, The Drowned by Carsten Jensen. Chapter 4 will touch on John's asexuality, but I won't add the tags until we get there.
> 
> Please let me know if you'd like any content warnings added!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for Chapter 1:   
> • Memories/trauma surrounding hospital visits   
> • Grief and guilt, especially wrt caregiving  
> • Lonely-typical content  
> • Extinction-typical content, incl. body horror

Martin was still deciding whether to trust Peter. They never once trusted his intentions, but the evidence that he slowly fed Martin —  _ annoyingly slowly _ , Martin thought with a hint of bitterness — was self-consistent, at the very least. 

Consistent enough that Martin couldn’t dismiss it outright, and they stuck by their decision to self isolate from the Archives. This included keeping their distance from John, especially since Martin’s presence or absence didn’t seem to affect how often he threw himself into danger. 

Martin’s lips tightened as they thought of John, and an unexpected wave of grief rolled over them. It hadn’t even been a year since the Unknowing. Eight months since the hospital where they gave their last goodbye to the mother who hated them. Four months since Martin had given what they thought were their last goodbyes to John, over the faint sound of a heart monitor that had only ever registered a flatline. 

It didn’t matter. John had been gone. If he came back, then he was just another person Martin would be protecting by continuing down the path that Peter was hinting at. The past two years haven’t exactly instilled a sense of optimism in any of the Magnus Institute employees, after all. The series of narrowly avoided apocalypses that the Institute was involved in almost reminded Martin of the death scares they had faced with their mother: rushing to the hospital expecting the worst, only to be left numb and exhausted, but never quite relieved, once she stabilized. Martin reached the point after a dozen or so emergencies where they almost felt routine, and the numbness stopped receding between the hospital visits. Were they becoming numb to the end of the world now? Would it come as a relief?

Martin shook their head to dislodge the sense memory of a flatlining monitor.  _ I must be reading too much about the Extinction lately _ , they thought, frustrated by their own thoughts’ dark trajectory. Maybe it’s just reflex after being on edge for so long, with the people in their life constantly in danger and only sometimes returning from it. Maybe the numbness was for the best. They could avoid the draining spectrum of fear and grief that came with proximity.

Martin let out a humorless huff, and the sudden sight of their own breath startled them out of their rumination. They mindlessly pulled their cardigan tighter around themself, even though they knew it would make no difference. 

_ Time to look into Peter’s next piece of ‘evidence’ _ , Martin refocused their thoughts matter-of-factly on the task at hand. They weren’t quite able to silence the cynical part of their mind that seemed to drone on underneath all other thoughts today. 

Peter had left a small cardboard box with a statement folder on their desk this morning, which had soured Martin’s mood when they first saw it. Peter knew that Martin was finalizing the third quarter budget spreadsheets today. The statement was left without any explanation, because that would require Peter staying around long enough to explain, which was apparently too much to ask. 

All of this was on top of the routine administrative tasks that Peter had delegated to Martin, half of which Martin then delegated to Rosie. They couldn’t even justify meeting with Rosie face to face. Peter gave Martin clear instructions that could be forwarded via email, but of course he never gave enough information to necessitate speaking in person.

Martin skimmed the statement: #0180514, given by Diane Cauldwell, regarding her sudden changes in appetite, obsessive thinking, and the unusual state of her vehicle and flat. An autopsy report paperclipped to the statement revealed that Ms Cauldwell had been found dead in her car in Wembley several weeks after giving her statement. 

Curiosity peaked, Martin cut the box open before reading the full text. The box was labeled  _ #0180514 Supplementals  _ and it let out a puff of stale air smelling faintly of gasoline. They were taken aback at the rather anticlimactic sight of what looked to be the contents of someone’s, likely Ms Cauldwell’s, personal desk. There was a bin of writing utensils spilled beside a stack of books and a Macbook.  _ But no charger _ , Martin noted with a sigh. Martin did a double take at the brand new-looking Macbook in the box, then again at the statement number: this statement was from just a couple of months ago.

They had a moment of panic where they wondered if John had taken another live statement — but no, this wasn’t John’s handwriting, or that of any of the other Archival Assistants to suggest that it was transcribed from tape. The statement giver must have written her story directly, and John must not have seen it yet. How did Peter gain access to the statement before it made it to the Archives? They made a mental note to email Rosie to check in with Research about the matter.

Martin started to reach into the box to get a better look, but drew their hand back. If these objects were relevant to the statement and had somehow circumvented Research protocols, did any need to be in Artefact Storage? Surely the box must have been screened before being stored with the statement file. But these seemingly random personal belongings couldn’t all be relevant to the case, Martin thought, scowling at the mess of pens with chewed caps that lined the cardboard. Regardless, the statement was clearly vetted by Peter and came with the box, and the spines of the books looked much too new to need to worry about Leitners.

Having talked themself down from paranoia, Martin slowly removed each book and article from the box and made a stack on the desk: there were environmental and petroleum engineering textbooks, notebooks, a few fiction books, and assorted news clippings. 

Now that Martin’s curiosity eclipsed their hesitation, they returned to the statement folder and were hardly surprised when a tape recorder clicked on on their desk. “Oh - hi there. I suppose you’re curious about this one too? I suppose since it hasn’t been recorded yet, I might as well. Not that Peter left any clear instructions.”

“Well, here goes. Statement of Diane Cauldwell…” 

The statement was unusual. Like several other Extinction statements, Martin could have argued for the involvement of the Lonely or even the Eye to justify Ms Cauldwell’s increasingly isolated and obsessive behavior. The Extinction’s influence had started as an innocent enough hobby, picked up after reading two fiction books she purchased for fun: an apocalyptic fiction novel about climate change, and a historical fiction volume about the growth of a small Danish town from the nineteenth to twentieth centuries. Ms Cauldwell became obsessed with researching industrialization, climate change, technology ethics, current events — anything she deemed remotely relevant to a human-made apocalypse. 

She also found herself mindlessly chewing on plastic and metal to the point where she worried she might damage her teeth. Ms Cauldwell swore that this was unlike her, and that it wasn’t just a simple stim or stress response. The water running from the tap in her apartment had started to taste wrong, and she found that surfaces and clothes started to gather an oily sheen, but her research left her no time to discuss these things with her landlord. The bulk of the statement contained rambling conspiracy theories and doomsaying about future environmental and political collapse that Martin struggled to follow. The statement itself seemed almost entirely devoid of any explicit supernatural content — it simply followed the victim’s mental and physical deterioration. According to the Research Department’s notes, the case had been marked as closed the same day the statement was given. It was only reopened once autopsy and toxicology reports were anonymously submitted to the Magnus Institute several weeks later.

The reports attached to the statement revealed that Ms Cauldwell’s body had all the signs of acute poisoning and malnutrition: all liquid in her body contained high volumes of gasoline and oil, and her digestive system was completely filled with plastic trash and metal debris. Whole plastic bottles, chewed bottle caps, and even batteries were found in her stomach. Martin recalled statement #0131305 with a shudder. 

All in all, it’s a statement that John probably would have dismissed out of hand had the events occurred two years ago, which brought the wry, sad smile back to Martin’s face before they pushed John back out of their mind. 

“Additional notes,” they continued after a moment. “Diane Cauldwell is a seemingly random victim. Almost like Gary Boylan, I suppose, since the Powers do seem to be fond of victimizing ordinary people? Sure, maybe their life circumstances led them more open to… fear, reflection, any of that sort, but so is everyone to some degree.” 

Martin remembered Tim saying something simi lar:  _ I’ve read through enough of these things to know that this doesn’t matter. The only thing you need to have your life destroyed by this stuff is just bad luck.  _

“Anyways, Ms Cauldwell doesn’t seem to have any connection that would make her more predisposed to being targeted by the Extinction, no strong ties to environmental protection or destruction, or any previous interest in the apocalypse like Delcour.”

“Comparing her description of the fiction books in the statement with the contents of the box, I can confidently say that two of the books she described as first forming her interest in the Extinction were the novelette  _ The People of Sand and Slag _ , and the modern Danish epic  _ We, The Drowned _ . The novelette may as well be an Extinction manifesto. The epic covers everything from colonialism to industrialization, so I suppose they’re both topical. As always, while this case is certainly interesting I would hardly call it useful,” Martin quipped, raising his voice slightly at the end. When there was no response, he sighed. 

“I also can’t work out from the statement any specific trigger that tipped events from natural to the supernatural. It’s like she went from being a normal person to being consumed by the  _ concept _ of the Extinction, which is… unsettling, to say the least? Considering this statement was left with what looks like the general contents of Diane’s desk, I suppose my next step will be sorting through those to see whatever small piece of evidence Peter deems relevant? Recording ends, I suppose.” Martin cursed under their breath and clicked off the tape recorder. Why couldn’t Peter just be forthcoming for once, why string Martin along so slowly?

They leaned back and slipped into their own thoughts. Peter’s evidence of the fifteenth Power was far from unshakable, but Extinction cases left Martin feeling more uneasy than most. They made them… deeply afraid. While they didn’t plan on admitting it to Peter yet, that fear convinced them more than any logical argument could have.

Extinction cases not only seemed more prone to being misread as other entities, but the fear in the statements seemed more nuanced. Not as insidious as the Web, but it clearly shared the Web and the Eye’s love for paranoia. It preyed on the fear of loss more indirectly than the Desolation perhaps, but it promised the destruction of the future as well as the present. The Spiral and Stranger confuse and warp, but the Extinction fundamentally changes. By the time the End would claim a life consumed by the Extinction, the life itself would be unrecognizable. 

It took Martin longer than usual to recover from reading this statement. By the time five o’clock hit, Martin had just about distracted themself with spreadsheets. They still had a lot of work to do… they might as well work late at home instead of the Institute.  _ Just as lonely either place _ , they thought to himself. They grabbed their laptop, and as an afterthought, they grabbed one of the books from the box. They had to start somewhere researching this case, since it was apparently another step in Peter’s plan for Martin’s “development.” 

Martin’s flat was cold when they entered, a habit they started keeping shortly after starting work under Peter Lukas. The heat bills had skyrocketed and they could never quite keep their apartment warm, so they had just… given up. It wasn’t even that they didn’t have the money to afford extra heat bills since their mother passed, but they never broke the habit.

Martin grabbed an energy bar from the pantry and settled into their couch to continue their workday. When had they stopped spending the time to cook proper meals?  _ Christ, I’m almost as bad as Jo—back to work, _ they chastised themself again. 

Now that they had confirmed that none of the books had Leitner nameplates, they took the time to examine  _ We, The Drowned  _ a little more closely. The thick fiction volume was translated from Danish and followed a seaside Danish town called Marstal from the end of the Age of Sail through World War 2. It documented everything from major historical events and industrialization to the tragedies experienced by individual townsfolk. 

While they weren’t planning on reading the Cauldwell books cover to cover (there were textbooks in that pile after all), this one looked interesting. More interesting than the budget spreadsheet, at least; it looked like a book Martin would have read for fun, which they hadn’t done since well before the Unknowing. Martin lingered on the cover for a moment before opening the book and beginning.

By the time 1 AM hit, Martin looked up in a daze. They could have sworn they had only just started to read, but they had made a shockingly large dent in the volume. As they scrubbed at their eyes with the heels of their palms, a wave of nausea ran through them that felt like smoke flooding their mind. The nausea reached its breaking point, and a flood of information raced unbidden to their mind.

_ In the late twenty first century, Marstal’s solar farm will be wiped out by a terrible storm: one of many to come as temperatures rise. In the late twenty second century, a nuclear reactor meltdown will destroy the town and send waves of radiation that will poison Denmark for hundreds of miles in every direction - and Sweden, Norway, and Germany. Soon after that, international tensions over energy regulation will break down into World War Three, which by the end of the twenty second century will leave only a fraction of the world’s population living in toxic and unrecognizable ruins of a warped world - _

The sound of the book that slipped from Martin’s hands hitting the floor broke them out of their reverie, and suddenly their thoughts were their own again.

_ What was that? What WAS that? _ Martin whispered to themself in panic, and cringed at the sound of their own voice in the quiet apartment. They slowly stood on shaking legs.

Martin had seen, had  _ felt _ some sort of… apocalyptic future of Marstal? That WAS a real town, right? A quick Google search on their phone confirmed that the town the book followed was real. But still, they… they were just overthinking things. The Extinction had been on their mind all day. They were fine, and they were tired, and they were hungry. 

Martin remembered the energy bar as their stomach protested. Scrubbing their eyes and moving the book to the end table, they reached to take another bite of the bar when they realized it still had the wrapper on. They had eaten half of the energy bar along with its wrapper while reading.  _ I must be more tired than I thought,  _ Martin grimaced. They had a tendency to orally stim though - that must be it. 

That’s the same excuse Martin used when they found themself chewing on their toothbrush as they got ready for bed. They were hungry from their almost-dinner, but this felt... different. Wrong. They dropped the toothbrush back into its cup with a shaking hand, and met their eyes in the mirror.  _ You’re just… tired, and you’re stressed about the Extinction _ , Martin tried unsuccessfully to convince himself. Of course it was on their mind, and it had been a long day. Best to sleep it off and refocus their efforts tomorrow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	2. Visions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been channeling my fear of MAG 200 into writing this week -_-
> 
> Chapter 2 content warnings:   
> • John-typical Angst™, incl. internalized victim blaming  
> • Beholding-typical content, incl. Knowing and nonconsensual compulsion

John stared into the middle distance of his office at half past six. It had been a lonely day. A lonely week, month… And exhausting, although John didn’t feel physically tired. He felt restless, suspended between where he was now and the need to find… whatever was next. Whatever Elias or Annabelle were planning, the next fire John should put out, the next step he could take toward… fixing things. Whatever that meant. 

_ If there’s anyone else I haven’t alienated, driven away, or killed, _ John thought with a self-deprecating grimace. No one could say it wasn’t accurate, though. The closest thing he had to trust or to friendship at this point was Daisy, which said a lot about his current state. Basira had been all but icy after their return from Ny-Ålesund. 

John and Daisy didn’t  _ trust _ one another, exactly, and John still had moments where he pushed down instinctual panic when passing her in the Archive hallways. But at the same time, they had reached some sort of unspoken understanding  _ — _ they were both trapped, not just by the Institute but by the Powers they served. Neither of them wanted to get worse. Neither of them knew how to get better.

Better. Better as in “stop doing harm to everyone around you,” which felt less like progress when it should have always been the bare minimum. It’s like John had to actively _ try _ to fall lower than basic human decency - but looking back, it never really felt like he actively tried to pursue  _ any  _ of this. John pursued answers, sure, but at every turn the consequences of knowledge grew so out of proportion with what anyone in the Archives could have expected or prepared for. Jane Prentiss. The NotThem.  _ Sasha.  _ Kidnapping. The Unknowing.  _ Tim _ . 

John felt familiar grief and shame well from his stomach up into his throat, where it slowly squeezed and dominated his thoughts. Every time he declared himself unwilling to lose anyone else, they slipped through his hands like sand. Georgie hadn’t reached out since he woke up from the coma, which was… probably for the best. She needed the distance, especially being with Melanie. 

God, Melanie. The anger in her eyes, even after the influence of the Slaughter was removed, cut deeper than anyone else’s judgement. The way Melanie hated him almost perfectly reflected the way he hated himself such that Melanie’s anger felt more like looking into a mirror, being seen.  _ It’s probably how being Seen by the Eye feels to your victims _ , John thought, before another wave of shame rolled over him. His victims? He put his victims through far worse than… than experiencing  _ the consequences of his own actions _ . They relived their horror every single night and all John could do was continue to watch, continue to dream, continue to enjoy their pain. No, what John felt and was going through was nothing compared to the pain he’s inflicted on others. 

Which is why he had to do better. If not for Sasha, or Tim, or Georgie or Melanie then… then for Martin. 

The Beholding had a tendency to time its intrusion into John’s mind in sync with his emotions, and thinking of Martin sent a wave of unrequested information into his mind:

_ Martin Blackwood visited the Archivist four times a week for six months, often more, during his coma.  _

_ Martin Blackwood took no personal time off after the death of their mother, instead threw themself harder into working at the Institute to drown their grief. _

_ Martin Blackwood’s only common ground with their mother was their love of shortbread. It now tastes like sand in their mouth when it reminds them of her death. _

_ Martin Blackwood feels the same grief when they look at John now. _

_ Martin Blackwood has never been more scared in their life than when - _

John gasped as a knock on his office door breaks the statement-like trance of Knowing. He took several deep breaths before managing a small, “come in, Basira,” sitting up and trying hard to look like he hadn’t just been feeling sorry for himself. 

Basira walked in and gave John a slow, calculating look before saying without preamble, “What did you need with the Cauldwell case?”

John blinked. “The… the what?” 

“Statement #0180514. You reckon Peter and Martin are researching the Extinction, right? Well I tried to look into potentially related statements after we got back, and that one is missing from Research. It never even made it to the Archives.” 

“You’re looking into the Extinction? Basira, wh- wait. You know when something is missing from Research?” He phrased the question less directly than he usually would to avoid any compulsion slipping out. God, he was  _ hungry _ .

Basira shrugged. “Seems like I’m the only one here who still talks to people outside the Archives. Information is safety, and I don’t want to be blindsided. So why did you take the case?”

“I - I didn’t. I didn’t even know a new Extinction case had come in. Diane Cauldwell certainly didn’t come down to the Archives to record or transcribe it.” 

“Hmm.” Basira’s calculating gaze never left John’s face. “Then how did you know the statement giver’s name?”

John looked confused for another moment before his shoulders sank, and Basira let out a breath. “Figured as much. Can you… can you Know what happened to it? Will it give you another… hangover?”

John spread his hands wide in an exasperated gesture. “I don’t know, Basira, and that doesn’t even sound like a good - ah,” John’s head fell into his hands. Static crackled around him, raising the hair on his arms and the loose pieces around his face. 

Basira watched the situation with the same scrutiny she had on her face this whole time. “And? Did it just… come to you, or is this some other monster trait?” 

John rose shakily to his feet, hair still swaying from the static and from his sudden movement. “I… I need to talk to Martin.” 

“Oh no, you don’t. You don’t leave until you explain what just happened.” Basira stepped in front of the door to John’s office. “John, pull it together. I need to know if there’s a threat, from the Extinction, Peter, anything.”

“No - no danger to us, at least not immediately. But Martin’s - ah,” John clenched his teeth. “Martin’s not okay. I don’t know exactly what happened, but when you mentioned the case, I Knew that - that it was dangerous to them.” 

“Is something coming to the Institute?”

“Basira, there’s no time, I need to  _ go _ -” 

“Not until I say you can -”

“Basira, please!  **Let me go** ,” John’s mind cleared as the static he had been biting back tumbled into the command, and Basira stepped sharply to the side. 

They met one another’s eyes slowly, John’s full of shock and horror, and Basira’s… Basira’s eyes were calm, but resigned and… sad? John had never seen sadness in her eyes before. Desperation, relief, determination, calculation, but  _ never  _ sadness. 

“Basira, I am so,  _ so _ sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No, John. Stop.” The compulsion now passed, she tested her movement and nodded to find it normal. “Just… just  _ get out _ . Go talk to them, whatever, just get the hell back here once you’re done. We need to talk.” 

John stammered for a moment until Basira turned and left the office. He cursed under his breath. He needed to talk to Martin.

***

Martin sat with their elbows on their desk, a budget spreadsheet open on their monitor but their eyes transfixed on the Cauldwell case on the table in front of them. They weren’t reading it anymore. They had done that dozens of times by now, but if they just… stared at it longer, maybe their thoughts would settle. 

It seemed obvious now, where the mundane ended and the supernatural began. It didn’t begin with her obsession, it began with the book.  _ Their _ book. That’s when everything started to diverge and unravel in her life. That’s when the gasoline smell never completely washed off her skin, real food never sat quite right in her stomach, and the future never sat quite right in her mind. 

But Martin knows what  _ did _ feel right, because they understand now. They understand the Extinction, and Ms Cauldwell’s rambling notes, and -

The click of a tape recorder made Martin jump. 

“Oh! Oh - you surprised me there. False alarm though, I - I’ve already given you this statement. Unless…  _ Peter _ ,” Martin whirled toward the door. “Look, Peter, I -”

“Martin!” The door burst open and Martin was surprised to see John.

“Christ, John, don’t  _ do _ that! Jesus, are you alright? You - you look like hell,” Martin said, voice softening as he took in John’s frazzled frame and hands worrying the hem of his shirt.

“Uh, right, I’ve been… I get weak? Hungry, I guess, sort of. I’ve been trying to avoid - I’ve been sticking to old statements? Thank you for your little  _ intervention _ , by the way.”

Martin dragged a hand across their face. “Look, I wouldn’t  _ have _ to if you hadn’t been-”

“I know, and I’m sorry, that didn’t quite come out right. Honestly, thank you. It’s been hell, but I did need to hear it.” John’s approached Martin’s desk, and they reflexively backed their office chair up several inches.

“Oh, um - good! Are the others helping?”

John gave a breathy laugh. “Oh, they’ve been keeping a very close eye on me, but that’s not important. Well, it  _ is _ important, but that’s not why I’m here. I-” 

“John. Calm down. What do you  _ want _ ?” Now that they established that John was okay, their voice took on a harder edge. 

“I think… I think I also need to set up an intervention? For you. I know you’ve been -  _ cagey _ about the nature of your work with Peter, and I honestly get it, but I was talking with Basira when I just… I Knew that the Cauldwell case can harm you.  _ Harmed _ might not be the right word, it’s all rather vague, but… something is very wrong, and I need to stop you before you get in too deep.”

Martin blinked. “John, you know I can’t talk about this with you. You shouldn’t even  _ be _ here, I know you’ve never _ trusted _ me but - but this is crossing a line.”

John clenched and unclenched his hands out of frustration at his words being unclear. “I’m not saying that, Martin, and I  _ do _ trust you. It’s just that this is different, and I don’t want to be too late. I’ve been thinking, ever since we got back from Hill Top Road-”

“Christ, you went to  _ Hill Top Road _ ?”

“Yes, but it’s - it’s fine, we learned that… that I’m not being controlled, by the Beholding or - or by the Web, or at least if I am we can’t know it. Which means that you must be the same, with the Lonely or with… with the Extinction.” Static coated John’s tongue for the end of his sentence as realization dawned on his face. John’s voice softened. “Please tell me I’m not too late.” 

Martin sighed. “John, I’m not doing anything because I’m being controlled. I’m doing this because I’m  _ choosing _ to.”

John paced in front of the desk to release the nervous energy building inside him. “I know you think you’re keeping us safe, but  _ you’re _ not safe doing this. Sometimes I think Melanie has it right - we’re stuck here, but if we just stop doing what this place wants, then… then maybe it’s better.” 

John stopped and met Martin’s eyes. “Maybe we could help each other stop. Together.” 

“John, don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Make it  _ my _ decision. Because I’ve already made mine, and it isn’t that.” They let out a huff. “I can’t follow you on this one.”

“Martin, whatever this is, you don’t have to do this for me. For  _ any  _ of us.”

“That’s it then, isn’t it?” Martin gave another false laugh and ran a hand through their hair. “John, I’m not _doing_ this for you. Maybe it started out that way, keeping everyone safe, but now? Now what you’re saying is just… empty words. Empty words compared to what’s coming, and I have to focus on _that_. It beats rejoining the Archive team and - and being treated poorly by _you_.” For a moment they wondered if they would have felt guilty for that comment before. 

John looked struck, and took a step back. “You’re right. You’re right, Martin, and - and I don’t have any excuse for the way I treated you these past few years. And if it’s too late, then I understand, but - but I hope it isn’t too late. I’m sorry, and I want to make things right, and I don’t think that’s possible while we’re both still chasing down whatever Peter and Elias want. Martin… please,” John breathed. 

For a moment, they held one another’s eyes. Martin could feel the Lonely’s influence balking under the eye contact, but they pushed through it. 

“I don’t have any loyalty to Elias or to the Magnus Institute or to Peter, John. Or to you, anymore,” they said softly, before continuing, “Just look at how much the Institute has changed since we started in the Archives. What’s still there to be loyal to? Everything and every _ one _ changes, and ends, and trying to prevent that by freezing in place just doesn’t work. It  _ never _ works. I’ve tried it enough to know.” 

“Maybe,” John almost whispered, and backed his way toward the door. “Maybe. But - well, I’ll be here. If you need me.”

“Good to know.”

He lingered in the door frame for a moment. “Just don’t wait too long? If you haven’t already.” 

“Yeah… yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> • Some of the John and Martin dialogue is borrowed/adapted from MAG 154 “Bloody Mary”  
> • That dialogue sounds great but looks awful written out due to the overlapping, stuttering, backtracking, and cutting one another off, so some of it had to be changed to work better in writing.  
> • This chapter is 60% navel gazing and 40% angsty dialogue
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Any and all comments and feedback are greatly appreciated <3
> 
> Special thanks to Ann, Z, and Desiree!


End file.
